Long Shadows
by Shroudedpanther
Summary: THE LONG AWAITED SEQUEL TO "RISING DARKNESS" Recovering from their devastating losses, the Guild leaders of Skyrim find themselves in a desperate race to secure allies and artifacts alike to use in the fight against the evil Malustarii and their terrifying warlord, Morden, whose dark powers threaten to smother Skyrim completely... The Elder Scrolls series belong to Bethesda.


Nature was beginning to reclaim the Falkreath Sanctuary. Once a hideout for assassins, the underground complex had been sacked and put to the torch over five years ago. Amidst the piles of ash and cracked bricks, new growth was beginning to emerge. Mushrooms dotted the floor and grew in clumps in the corners of rooms like shy partygoers. Hanging moss adorned every doorway and anywhere it could find a worthy foundation. If it were not winter, one could surely find flowers growing in the sparse sunbeams shining in from ragged holes in the ceiling.

Legate Kaius of the Imperial Legion sat in the main room of the Sanctuary, trying not to feel guilty. After all, he was responsible for its condition. It was he who had led a team of the Emperor's agents here to destroy the place and those inside. What made matters worse was that one of the assassins who had survived the purge sat across from Kaius, no doubt thinking about the same thing.

The assassin's name was Jag, and his usually sly face was remarkably somber. Kaius could see it in the droop of Jag's whiskers and how his ears lay flat against his head. Yes, Jag was a Khajiit, a catlike humanoid race native to a humid land far from Skyrim where they now sat. Skyrim... Such a forbidding place. It wasn't Kaius homeland any more than it was Jag's, yet fate had somehow led them there in time for bloody disasters to break out, the most recent of which threatened the very existence of the world.

A Nord man wearing armor made of dragon materials spoke up suddenly. "All this sitting around isn't solving anything. What are we going to do?"

"About what, exactly?" Jag asked, expressionless.

The man grew more agitated, twisting his short beard. "Don't play dumb, cat. The Malustarii have taken up positions around Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf and his guards stand no chance against Morden's evil. We must help them!"

Kaius leaned forward. "What do you have in mind, Dragonborn? We're not in a position to be saving anyone. We barely escaped the Battle of Whiterun with our lives. Our forces are scattered. Now is the time to regroup, to make a better plan. One that actually stands a chance of beating him."

Now the Dragonborn rounded on Kaius. "If I didn't know better, _Chief_ , I would say you engineered that battle!"

Kaius raised his eyebrows, hiding the guilt he felt. "And why would I do that?"

"I… I don't know, it just seems odd that with all your experience and expertise, we were still defeated."

"I will admit, I made an error in judgement. However, it will not happen again. Not now that I know the extent of Morden's power."

No one knew what to say to that. They sat or stood in silence for a bit, each no doubt reflecting on the tumultuous events of the past few weeks.

"How did this happen?" Lydia whispered. "Everything seemed like it was calming down."

"We let our collective guard down," Jag said grimly. "Even Khajiit did not put the pieces together when he heard the rumors. Morden worked well in the shadows."

The Dragonborn sighed heavily, and Stenar imagined smoke issuing from his nostrils. "This talking is getting us nowhere. What's our next move?"

Every person in the room looked at Kaius expectantly, who didn't seem to miss a beat. "We clearly don't have the sheer manpower to take Morden head on. To gain reinforcements, we have options of who we can go to. I'm sure each of us here have connections. Shall we lay them out? Mine are, of course, the Imperial Legion, which might require convincing to send troops after all the Stormcloak trouble. The Dawnguard will also aid me. Isran would jump at the chance to go after all the vampires and "abominations" that have allied themselves with Morden." He grew warm under Serana's reproachful stare as he said the last bit.

"Jag's allies are not the warrior type, but they've already proven themselves, I feel. We will soon hear how our operatives in Blackreach fared, Chief."

Stenar grunted, "The Companions are always ready to take the fight to our enemies."

Dovahkiin examined his helm thoughtfully, a metal masterpiece styled into a draconic shape. "The dragons grow restless. Since Morden is apparently also Dragonborn, his power is attracting many of them to serve him. Other than that, the Blades have pledged me their assistance, but they are also small in number."

At this point, someone else in the room stirred and spoke up. The man was wearing mismatched armor, but carried himself well in the company of some of the most powerful mortals in Tamriel. "What about the College of Winterhold? I heard that Morden attacked it, but do we know if anyone survived?"

"Who is this milk-drinker?" Stenar demanded before Dovahkiin could speak. "Why should he give voice in this council?"

Dovahkiin said, "Peace, man! Peace. This is my friend, Blahzeel. He saved my life just before Whiterun fell. Besides, his question is sound."

Stenar seemed satisfied by this answer, but Blahzeel frowned at his rudeness. Dovahkiin continued, "To answer your question, no. We don't know whether Virali survived the attack. There have been a few refugees trickling in that escaped by hiding in the Midden, but nothing solid."

The Chief gestured at the Dragonborn. "I have an idea, but you're not going to like it. The Imperial Legion would be much more likely to send troops to aid us if they were commanded by an Emperor. A Dragonborn Emperor. And thanks to Jag over here,"—Jag helpfully waved at this point,—"A position for that just opened up."

The Dovahkiin sighed heavily. "Yes, very well. I've been putting off a trip into Cyrodiil for a while now. Becoming Emperor is a… Distasteful eventuality."

When no one raised an objection, Stenar spoke up. "In that case, I suppose the rest of us will remain here and do what we can to slow the Malustarii's advance."

"May Nocturnal's luck be with us all," Jag finished, and that seemed to be the end of it. Everyone stood and separated to prepare for their next moves. Dovahkiin walked over and grasped Stenar's forearm.

"Talos preserve you."

"And you as well. Bring me back a sweetroll from your coronation?"

The Last Dragonborn smirked. "Count on it."


End file.
